


Get With It, Daddy-O (The Decorating with Antlers Remix)

by baehj2915



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Human, Crimes & Criminals, M/M, Teenage Rebellion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 02:11:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baehj2915/pseuds/baehj2915
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles spent the majority of his time organizing Logan’s files and guessing what to put on receipts for Logan’s taxes whenever he would take payment in the form of a meatloaf or a favor. By the time the reception desk in Logan’s office was actually tidy, dusted and everything, Charles could’ve swore he’d spent months at Logan’s. </p>
<p>It was closer to three weeks if Charles was being generous with time. </p>
<p>Naturally, given the state of Charles’ life, he couldn’t be faulted for noticing the handsome stranger who seemed to take residence above Rosie’s Diner. Not at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get With It, Daddy-O (The Decorating with Antlers Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keire_ke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keire_ke/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Guide to Decorating with Antlers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/686901) by [keire_ke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keire_ke/pseuds/keire_ke). 



> Oh boy, so, I don't normally go on about this sort of thing, but I went through approximately five hundred story ideas before doing this one. I've never done a remix before and I felt apprehensive about it the whole time. I really wanted to do something with _Their Mouths Always Lie_ at first, because I just love that story, but in order to give it the appropriate weight I wanted, I would've had to write a lot more than I wanted. And I was procrastinating a lot, and worrying a lot, and then I got sick. And by the time the deadline was really approaching, I had to change courses drastically. 
> 
> So I picked a shorter story I could do more with. And I was going to do a space version of _Decorating with Antlers_. Then it was sort of space westerny. And then it was the 1950s at the 11th hour, so... IDEFK. 
> 
> So I hope this is good and fits the rules and stuff. Yeesh. (I'm sorry.) 
> 
> ~*~

Even when one is the child of the wealthiest family in the whole town, there is little to do when the town is small and chiefly surrounded by diary farms and known for its dairy production. As a child, Charles would run through the neighbors’ grazing fields with Raven, or borrow whatever horses and bikes not tied down, to find all the different bugs and birds and wildlife in the area that didn’t bleat or moo. However, once Charles started going to boarding school out in Connecticut, she seemed to want little to do with Charles and natural biology anymore. 

Well at least not the kind of biology that dealt with specie and genus. 

“I don’t need to spend time with nerds who go to their own fancy schools out in loserville,” Raven had said. 

She would only hang with Angel now. They would go out by the river behind the Summers’ farm, where they would certainly not catch frogs, but probably smoke and talk about sex and how to shorten their school uniforms without getting caught. The people in town would shake their heads at them. Charles wanted to tell them to get bent, but Kurt already threatened to send him to military school with Cain enough as it was. 

With Charles home for yet another slow summer shaping up to be as uneventful as the summer before, Charles thought it might be fun to have a job before college. He didn’t need the money but having a companion who was more or less forced to listen to him for a number of hours seemed like a good arrangement. 

The second day he was home from school he compiled a quite extensive resume of all the organizations and independent study programs he’d been involved in at school. He wrote down all his advisors’ numbers from school in the expectation of needing an esteemed voucher for his character. But when he got to Logan’s he found himself hired before he finished explaining why he was qualified. 

“Do you need any references?” Charles said hopefully. 

Logan barely looked from the old jalopy he was errantly pulling apart. “I’ve known you since you were knee-high to a bug’s ear, Charlie. Sides, I need somebody to take over for Mrs. Bagrudian in the office.” 

Mrs. Bagrudian had retired nearly three years prior. Charles wasn’t entirely certain Logan ever noticed she left. No one ever made appointments at Logan’s so much as they saw him about town, asked when it was most convenient to leave their car or tractor at the garage, and Logan would do it on his own time regardless of any pre-arranged window of time. 

“You can start first thing tomorrow morning.” 

~*~

Charles learned over his first week at Logan’s Garage that the first thing in the morning meant whenever Logan was done eating breakfast at Rosie’s Diner, or simply just comfortable enough to talk to people. A few days in Logan gave Charles a key, with the very specific instruction, “Come in whenever you feel like it.” 

Charles spent the majority of his time organizing Logan’s files and guessing what to put on receipts for Logan’s taxes whenever he would take payment in the form of a meatloaf or a favor. By the time the reception desk in Logan’s office was actually clean, dusted and everything, Charles could’ve swore he’d spent months at Logan’s. 

It was closer to three weeks if Charles was being generous with time. 

Naturally, given the state of Charles’ life, he couldn’t be faulted for noticing the handsome stranger who seemed to take residence above Rosie’s Diner. Not at all. 

~*~ 

Above Rosie’s Diner was a small collection of rooms for let that weren’t quite a boarding house and weren’t quite a hotel. Rosie’s Diner was directly across from Logan’s Garage. Of course there was an actual garage component to the Garage, but most of the actual repairs sprawled out over the parking spaces and in front of the office and behind the building too. Naturally, there was a lot to be done outside. 

Charles decided his contributions to Logan’s Garage and Gas would be best geared towards helping Logan with repairs, rather than lazing about inside. He could do sweeping and things. Surely there were many tools Logan needed fetched and parts he needed… retrieved. It would only save time in the long run. 

And Charles could stand to learn more about automobile maintenance. He liked learning about all sorts of things. 

And all sorts of people. 

“Do you think he’s moving in to work for one of the farmers?” Charles said, voicing a theory he’d been working on.

Logan sighed quietly. “No. I really don’t. And I wouldn’t inquire about his kind of farming if I were you. You’re a good kid.” 

Not many people came to Westchester. Even fewer came that had no relatives in the area. When two tall, mysterious strangers, an attractive man and a very attractive woman, had come very late in the day on Friday, driving a cool mint green flip top Cadillac, asking for two separate rooms, speculation had bounded. It had positively raced over the week’s end when it seemed like no one from the surrounding farms had or would come into town to claim them as new help or old relatives. 

The attractive man, dressed in a black leather jacket and dark blue jeans cuffed above his boots, and wearing a somewhat frustrated expression, came into Charles’ office that Saturday to order for the speedy repair and refueling of his Caddy. He explained what it was wrong with the car, but Charles wasn’t good at remembering the names of car parts at the best of times. 

It was still early and Logan was eating breakfast at Rosie’s. If Logan had been there to hear a request for a rush order, even with sufficient payment, he might’ve stalled until Monday to order the new parts on principle. If Logan heard from Charles it was a rush job, he would probably finish that evening with some kind of technical magic. 

Charles cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, we can’t start repairs until Monday at the earliest. We’d have to get the parts from the City, from our… automotive… supplier. Are you staying in one of Rosie’s rooms, though? You can get one for cheap. Are you staying for long? Do you have any family in Westchester?” 

The man looked at him doubtfully. “No, I mean… I don’t plan to stay long. I can pay ex—“

Charles laughed. “Oh that’s completely unnecessary. I’m Charles. What’s your name?” 

“Erik,” the man said slowly. It seemed like he wanted to take the sounds back the entire time he was saying them. 

Several days later Logan did start working on their car. Erik stopped by a few times to ask about it—never approaching Logan, but always being haltingly polite to Charles, lingering silently for a few moments before retreating to Rosie’s. Charles could see him throughout most of the day sitting in a booth in the window, looking over at the garage. Charles overheard at the greengrocers that the both of them were seen at the bar at night, but kept mostly to themselves. 

Still no one knew who they were or what they did. Though, the most popular idea was that they were some kind of Bonnie and Clyde. And everyone said not to go near them.

“Well, what kind of farming would they do? He doesn’t look like a farmer?” Charles asked Logan again, still looking at Erik in the window of Rosie’s. For a brief moment their eyes met. Charles waved before he could think to do anything else. It almost looked like Erik was going to get up and come over, but he only stood to walk further into Rosie’s, away from the window. 

Logan grunted in a way that sounded slightly wary, but Charles wasn’t really paying attention. 

~*~

Late Thursday evening, Charles went to McCoy’s. It wasn’t really a restaurant. You could only sit outside, but they sold soda and malts, and burgers and fries, and cotton candy. He stopped by to pick up a cola with his newfound pocket change. As the street led away from the businesses, Charles heard laughing out by the park and he followed it.

Angel and Raven were sitting on the picnic table, picking at a cone of cotton candy. There was a pack of cigarettes on the bench between their legs, and Angel was holding a bottle in a brown paper bag. Raven cringed when she saw Charles. Angel rolled her eyes. 

“Hit the bricks, squaresville,” Angel said. 

Charles sat opposite them anyway. He held out his hand and motioned for the booze. They may have thought he was a square, but he was still older than them. Angel reluctantly handed it over. 

Raven scowled. “You’re not going to rat us out, are you?” 

Charles rolled his eyes and took a swig from their bottle. It was cheap and burned. It smelled a little like Logan in the mornings sometimes. The stuff the boys in his dorm had kifed from the chaplain’s room had been much better. 

“Not if you give me a fag.” 

Raven’s eyes went huge. Charles had to bite back a laugh. He wasn’t going to tell on them at all, but he’d run out of his own pack a week ago. He’d been taking the least damaged butts out of his mother’s ashtrays and smoking them behind the garage after lunches. He asked Logan for a smoke once, but Logan only smoked cigars. It was not an experience Charles was looking to repeat any time soon. 

After they lit their Luckies together, Raven smiled at Charles for what felt like the first time in two years. But the smile slid off her face as soon as Angel spoke. 

Angel laughed. “So what’s it like, being an Ivy Leaguer?” 

Charles shrugged. He couldn’t say he wasn’t excited about going to Harvard, but part of him was also dreading it. “I’m not even there yet.” 

Before Charles could break the uneasy silence that settled, there was the sound of crunching grass coming towards them. Charles snatched the booze out of Raven’s hand and tensed up because there was no way they wouldn’t be recognized. But when his eyes focused in the dark, he didn’t see a cop. It was Erik. 

“You kids shouldn’t be out here.”

“We’re not kids,” Raven said, almost reflexively. 

It made Charles blush. He wasn’t a kid. Not really. But he looked like one, and he was drinking with two under aged girls. He didn’t know what he wanted Erik to think of him, but it definitely wasn’t this. 

Angel pulled the bottle from Charles’ hands. “Ice it, Daddy-o. Wanna join us? We’re having a party for Charles, here.” 

Charles wanted to bury his head in the dirt. 

“Why’s that?” 

“He’s going to Harvard next year, leaving us nosebleeds behind,” Raven said. 

Erik’s eyebrow shot up, but he didn’t sit down. “Still shouldn’t drink that stuff. It’ll stunt your growth.” 

Charles frowned, still looking mostly at Erik’s boots. He thought that was some kind of joke, but it didn’t seem likely. 

“I don’t suppose there’s any way I can get that boss of yours to fix up my wheels any faster.”

Charles looked up. “You should talk to him. Why? You have places to be?” 

Erik gave him a small smirk and shrugged. “View’s not so bad here.” After a few seconds, he cleared his throat. “You should split. It’s not nice out here tonight.” 

“The weather is fine,” Charles said, eager to talk about something that wasn’t vague and confusing and filled his chest with a tight, wet feeling. 

“I said, get out,” Erik said, his eyes getting steelier. 

Angel laughed and grabbed Charles’ elbow. “Don’t rattle your cage, Big Daddy. We’re cuttin’ out.” 

Unable to help himself, Charles turned slightly behind him as they were walking away and waved. “Bye, Erik.” 

Erik looked at him strangely for a said and said, in that strangled way once again, “Charles.” 

Charles ignored Raven’s “do you know him?” and Angel’s “did you see that chassis?” and walked home behind them, wondering if he could sabotage Logan’s work on Erik’s car somehow.

~*~

Late Friday evening, Charles was kidnapped. 

Well, at least, that’s what he assumed was happening. He was never formally apprised of the situation. 

Charles was walking around the park after work. Angel and Raven were at a party at some other kid’s house. Raven had actually asked him to come along, but Charles declined hoping to go back out to the park and find… no one or nothing, apparently. He was close to going back home when he heard footsteps again. 

When he looked up, his hope faded. It was just a man with black hair he’d never seen before. 

“Are you Charles Xavier?” 

Charles nodded, but before he could say anything a hand came from behind him and clamped a foul-smelling rag over his mouth and nose. Whoever was behind him had a strong arm over his chest too and was walking Charles somewhere away from the park. His eyesight and hearing slowly started to fade away. 

~*~ 

Charles woke up with a throbbing headache and what felt like several layers of mud on his tongue. He was lying in the backseat of a Packard, one hand handcuffed to the door handle. The car he was in appeared to be parked inside an uninhabited barn. 

“Well,” he sighed, feeling strangely loose and light-headed, “damn.” 

He sat up as best as he was able, feeling the pull in his left arm as he strained to look into the front seat. On the passenger side there were several large bags of what appeared to be small, mossy green little ferns. There was also closed carpetbag and a flick knife sitting on the passenger seat. He could see a gun on the front dash by the steering wheel, far out of his reach. 

Charles stared at it with his aching head for several long moments before he realized he was in a very illegal car and that was probably, definitely, marijuana in the front seat. 

Pulling hard on his left arm, after a minute or so struggle, he finally got a good hold on the knife in the font seat. He had no idea what he was going to do with it, but it would probably be for the best if he had it, rather than his kidnappers. 

And with no key in sight, he figured it might be worth trying to pick the lock on his handcuffs. He’d gone through a phase for several years, that had annoyed Raven quite a lot as it consisted of her being shut into multiple rooms, of being intensely interested in locks and different lock and key mechanisms. He’d even built his own lever tumbler lock when he was eleven. 

He pushed the knife into the back of the seat in front of him and cut out a large square of leather. The springs in the seat were easy enough to unhook. He pulled out the end of the spring to a relatively straight point and started poking around the lock of the handcuffs. 

~*~

It took quite a while and some trial and error, but the cuff eventually loosened. Moments before he unlocked it, Charles thought he was definitely done for. He heard the distant sound of footfall, and then talking, and then a gunshot. 

Charles almost ran out of the car before grabbing the gun on the dash. 

He snuck along the wall to the closest door, where he could hear the voices more clearly. He knew he should have simply fled as fast as his feet could carry him, but evidently being kidnapped by strangers in a car full of drugs made him more curious than was recommended. Charles also thought it might be beneficial to actually get a better look at the men who kidnapped him. 

Then he heard a familiar voice. 

Charles peeked his head around the corner of the door to see Erik, unarmed, with his hands in the air. To his right there was a man groaning on the ground near a silo. But in front of Erik, with his back to Charles, was the black-haired man who’d spoken to Charles in the park. He was holding a gun on Erik, and talking about stealing and consequences. 

Erik’s eyes wondered to Charles and then rapidly flicked back to the man with the gun. Erik didn’t say anything or look back towards Charles, but his shoulders were rigid and his jaw was set. 

Charles knew he should have run for the police, but something forced him to creep further out the door. Operating under some force of will he’d never experienced before, Charles snuck quietly behind the talking gunman, raised his arm high and struck down with the butt of his gun. 

Of course, the man just yelped in pain and spun around to fire at Charles instead of collapsing to the ground like they do in the westerns. 

Charles dropped to the ground, covering his head, closing his eyes tightly. He felt two people fall over him, heard scuffling and swearing, and then there was another dull thunk. He didn’t want to look up, but he had to. 

Erik was tiredly getting to his feet, with a bleeding nose. The gunman was now unconscious, or as best as Charles could tell he was. The other man was still writhing on the ground by the silo. He cursed and shouted, “Lehnsherr!” 

“Is he shot?” Charles asked. 

Erik nodded and staggered toward Charles. He picked up the gun Charles had hit the man with and put it in his jacket pocket. He grabbed Charles’ hand and squeezed. “Come on. Someone will have heard all the shooting.” 

Charles couldn’t tell where they were exactly, but gunshots weren’t exactly a rare thing out in the country. Still, it was probably a good idea to get a move on. 

“I don’t suppose you’re a cop,” Charles said as Erik led him to the Packard back inside the barn. Erik’s hand was warm and rough and a little sweaty, which was understandable given the circumstances, but he didn’t let go. 

Erik didn’t answer, but he definitely wasn’t. He said instead, “I came to save you. Your sister said you were… I came to save you.” 

“Oh. Thank you!” 

Erik laughed like a cough, like it surprised him. He wrenched open the door of the Packard, finally letting go of Charles’ hand but still laughing, and grabbed the carpetbag from the front seat. “You’re so strange. And you saved me.” 

“You’re welcome, I guess.” 

“Yeah,” he said, looking intently at Charles. 

“We should run away or something,” Charles said nervously. 

“Run away?” 

“Or something.” 

“My car’s outside the barn. Let’s run away, baby.” Erik half-grinned, gave Charles the carpetbag, and held out his hand.

Charles smiled, and took it. 

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.


End file.
